


and you thought the lions were bad

by kerrykhat



Series: and you thought the lions were bad [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Challenge: tamingthemuse, Gen, Sansa's here to burn your kingdom down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykhat/pseuds/kerrykhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa needed them to continue to see her as a caged bird and underestimate her. And little doves did not howl like wounded direwolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you thought the lions were bad

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** George RR Martin owns "A Song of Ice and Fire" and all related characters; I own nothing.  
>  **Warning:** Season 3 spoilers for Game of Thrones/spoilers for A Storm of Swords. AU for a certain event.  
>  **Author's Note:** Written for the prompt "retribution" for Taming the Muse over at LJ. Title comes from the song "Daniel in the Den" by Bastille.

Sansa knelt in the godswood, her skirt clenched in her fists. Night had begun to fall since she had left the Keep, lengthening the shadows and leaving the weirwood a pale beacon in the darkened grove.

She wanted to weep. Wanted to rage and scream at the gods for playing this cruel jest on her. Her mother, who she thought had been murdered months ago, was blessedly alive, but now even more firmly a prisoner of the Lannisters than Sansa had ever been. Alive but wed to Tywin Lannister, the man who had orchestrated Robb’s betrayal and murder, and carrying his child. 

Her fingernails dug into her palms, even through the fabric of her skirt, but Sansa didn’t care. The pain focused her and kept her from losing control. As much as she wanted to discard the mask she wore, she wouldn’t dare. Maybe later, when the scrutiny on her lessened, she could, but not now. She needed them to continue to see her as a caged bird and underestimate her. And little doves did not howl like wounded direwolves.

Footsteps approached her, the sound muffled by the fallen leaves. She kept her head bowed, refusing to acknowledge the intruder until she had to.

“Lady Sansa. Your lady mother requests your presence for supper.” Lord Tywin’s hard, clipped tones echoed throughout the trees. If a servant had come to fetch her, she might have dawdled and drawn out leaving the godswood. Maybe that’s why he’d come in person.

“Of course, my lord,” Sansa answered, keeping her voice even. Carefully, she rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirt before she walked towards him. She kept her eyes lowered, not out of respect but out of necessity. She had already erred earlier today when she first arrived, allowing her façade to crack when she thought he mocked her. That had been a mistake even before he changed the stakes of the game with the revelation that her mother lived. If Sansa wanted to live, wanted to see the game through to its conclusion (even if she didn’t quite know what that conclusion was yet, other than making the Lannisters pay), she couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.

Before, all she had to worry about was death. Now the Lannisters had a new weapon to use against her should she misstep.

Sansa kept her head bowed and her voice silent while they emerged from the godswood and walked towards the Tower of the Hand. She could feel the weight of everybody’s gaze on her and heard the whispers spring up around her. It appeared that news of her return to King’s Landing had spread during her time first with her lady mother and then in the godswood. She ignored the stares, keeping herself composed and silent. Petyr may be dead, but his lessons still rang in her head. _Never let your mask fall. Never let them see what lies underneath._

Thankfully, Lord Tywin did not attempt to engage her in small talk. Remaining silent made it easier to slip into her meek guise and make sure it was secure.

They’d almost arrived when a glittering figure steps into their path, trailed by two guards. Sansa and Lord Tywin drew short before Sansa sank into a curtsey, using the correct amount of deference afforded to the woman before her.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted the Queen Regent, her head bowed and body still.

“Sansa. So the little dove has returned to us,” Cersei commented, not quite mastering her father’s cold way of speaking. Cruel amusement leaked through her voice as she continued, “Rather like a pet dog, I think.”

Sansa didn’t move. She didn’t know what the Queen Regent wanted, and until she did, remaining quiet was her best strategy. 

_Lady. Father. Jeyne and Septa Mordane. Robb and Bran and Rickeon. For them and for what you did to Mother, you’ll pay, I swear it._ Then they would see how little like a dog a direwolf truly was.

“I’m surprised you could bear to be parted from your mother for even an instant, and yet you’ve just spent hours in the godswood,” Cersei observed after a lengthy silence. “I expected more attentiveness from you, Sansa.”

“My lady mother required rest,” Sansa replied demurely, before adding, “And the Eyrie lacked a proper godswood. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to properly pray, and I wanted to give thanks.”

“How _devout_.” The way Cersei spat out the words gave Sansa a momentary pause. There was something underneath the sneering tone that sounded almost worried. Scared even.

“I do try, Your Grace.” Sansa kept her answer matter of fact, without embellishment. She would need to find out what caused Cersei’s discomfort at the mention of devotion, and possibly use that to her advantage.

“Well, I won’t keep you waiting much longer. We shall have plenty of time to become reacquainted.” She paused, and Sansa could almost hear the cruel smile she was sure was on the older woman’s face. “It’s as if the gods wanted you to be a lion instead of a wolf.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Taking a risk, Sansa lifted her head to meet the Queen Regent’s eyes and gave her a sweet smile. “Not just a lion, but your sister twice over.” She hated that she had to say those words. Hated that she had to acknowledge the hold the Lannisters had over her. But just as she had hidden under Alayne’s mask, now she hid under the mask of the silly little girl she had been.

Cersei’s mouth tightened and she ground out the word, “Indeed,” before turning and striding away. Sansa noted that the older woman didn’t acknowledge Lord Tywin. Was there a rift between father and daughter?

Sansa slowly straightened to her full height and resisted the urge to take a deep breath. She should have prepared herself to encounter Cersei so early on. She should have expected to be ambushed, but instead let herself to be blinded by her anger and her surprise. She needed to be more careful in the future. Turning towards Lord Tywin, she found herself subjected to a long, evaluative look. 

“If you would be so kind, my lord, to lead on,” Sansa requested quietly, keeping her gaze lowered. Let him think her cowed by her encounter with his daughter. 

Lord Tywin nodded slowly, before gesturing her forward. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to keep your lady mother waiting.”

Fortunately, there were no more interruptions, although the whispers seemed to intensify. Sansa allowed herself to tremble and her shoulders droop. Let the observers see how worn and scared and tired she looked and take that back to their masters.

Lord Tywin paused before the door that led to his personal chambers and looked back to her. “Forgive my daughter, Lady Sansa. She has been less than pleased by recent events.”

“Of course, my lord.” Sansa smoothed her skirt with trembling hands that weren’t quite an act. “I can’t imagine the pain a mother must go through when she loses her son.” She met his eyes briefly before looking down again, afraid that he would see the rage in her. How did her mother do it? How could she share the bed of the man who had killed Robb and destroyed their family, and not murder him in his sleep?

_Family. Duty. Honor._ Sansa had never considered her mother’s house words to be such a damning curse before. 

Lord Tywin’s mouth thinned ever so slightly, more of a grimace than a smile, and opened the door.

Sansa brushed past him and walked towards where her mother sat at the table. Catelyn looked up from the book she was reading and gave Sansa a smile.

“I was afraid I was dreaming when I woke to find you gone,” she told Sansa. Her tone was teasing, but Sansa could see the worry in her mother’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, mother,” she muttered and, feeling guilty, leaned down to give her mother a hug, “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know, sweetling.” Catelyn gave Sansa a kiss on the forehead. “Come sit. You must be hungry after your journey.”

Sansa carefully took the seat next to her mother and watched Lord Tywin take the seat across from them. She looked down at the plate set before her and saw her distorted reflection staring back at her. She blinked, not quite recognizing the pale girl staring back at her. 

Throughout the dinner, Sansa hesitantly answered her mother’s questions. They were mostly inconsequential: how was her journey, was her cousin well, her friendship with Randa. Lord Tywin remained blessedly silent, only listening to the conversation between mother and daughter.

Given this, Sansa chose her words with extreme care. Had she and her mother been alone—truly alone, with nobody to overhear—she might have spoken more freely. But she was back in the lion’s den and needed to be careful, unless she wanted them to rip her to shreds.

Finally, Sansa set down her cutlery and gave her mother a wan smile. “Might I be excused, mother? I’m quite weary from the journey.”

Catelyn glanced at her husband before nodding. “Of course, Sansa. The maids have already prepared a room for you.” She smiled, but it did nothing to hide the grief in her eyes. “I believe it used to belong to your sister.”

“Thank you.” She got to her feet and gave her mother and Lord Tywin a small courtesy. “Have a good evening, mother, my lord.”

A maid escorted Sansa to Arya’s old room. There was nothing there to indicate that her younger sister had once occupied the room, although Sansa looked in vain. A year ago, had anybody asked, she would have laughed politely at the thought of missing Arya. That seemed like a lifetime ago. As much as she didn’t wish her existence on her sister, Sansa would give anything to have her here beside her. 

Sansa’s breath caught at the thought of her sister. She refused to believe that Arya was dead. She had to be alive, somewhere, hiding. Sansa couldn’t be the last Stark, not again.

Feeling trapped, Sansa walked over to the window and opened it. Closing her eyes, she let the breeze wash over her. It was warmer here than in the Eyrie, too warm for her tastes. As much as she disliked the Eyrie for the memories it held, she missed the cool, crips mountain air. It had been similar enough to remind her of home.

“You did this to her. You and your family.” Sansa opened her eyes at the sound of her mother’s voice, almost too faint for her to hear. Quietly, she inched towards the window and carefully leaned forward to catch the words floating past.

“Catelyn…”

“Don’t touch me!” Catelyn snapped, and Sansa could hear the sounds of footsteps below. “You and your bloody family turned my sweet girl into somebody who expects a slap instead of kindness. You destroyed her!”

“Catelyn, calm yourself!” Lord Tywin didn’t shout, but his from his tone, he might as well have. “Remember what the maester said about becoming upset.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be upset if I and my daughter weren’t in this position!”

Sansa’s eyes widened in shock. She’d never heard such venom in her mother’s voice, not even directed at Jon Snow. Catelyn Stark had always been a proper lady, Sansa’s goal, and to hear her hiss and snap at her new husband went against all of Sansa’s expectations.

Lord Tywin didn’t answer for so long that Sansa thought he’d left before he spoke again. “Today has been overwhelming for you with Sansa’s reappearance. But you must take care of yourself.”

“Of your heir, you mean.” 

“Stop being difficult and listen!”

Sansa backed away from the window, not wanting to listen to any more of the argument. It went counter to everything Petyr had taught her during her time as Alayne. He would counsel her to keep listening, to learn any secrets that might be spilled. But Sansa wasn’t Alayne. She didn’t want to hear her mother argue with her new husband. She didn’t want to hear her mother speak like that and think about what she had to have gone through to get to this point.

Blinking the angry tears that threatened to fall, Sansa turned to face her new quarters. Let the Lannisters think her broken. Let them think her some silly little girl. She’d wait and fool them, and then find a way to free her and her mother. She would destroy the Lannisters from within and then go home.

Sansa Stark was of the North. The North remembered. _And winter comes for us all in the end._


End file.
